


Interlude

by killyhawk



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Root's perspective, we sure love our second person in this fandom don't we
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 04:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killyhawk/pseuds/killyhawk
Summary: Some moments between Root and Shaw following the events of Sotto Voce.





	Interlude

The past forty-eight hours have been like a waking dream. Shaw's back. She's really back. She's alive and breathing and she's _back_. Every time you look at her (which is a lot, seeing as you've hardly let her out of your sight), you go through the cliches all over again: Your heart swells with joy, you almost forget to breathe in your haste to devour her every minute movement, your pulse spikes every time you turn a corner to find her there... You'd become so used to the despair, wearing it like a wind-torn coat. You figure your subconscious is still catching up.

You keep looking her over, cataloging the differences, the constants. Same full lips, same dark eyes, same brown hair, same long lashes, same level of snark... But there's a hesitancy, a vulnerability, that wasn't there before. Her eyes are more prone to wandering instead of locking on yours. She feels more withdrawn, as though taking up less space. She prefers her hoodies zipped all the way up now. Doesn’t bother with makeup.

You watch her incessantly until she stops whatever she’s doing, looks you square in the eye and says, “Would you quit it? I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

But she doesn't begrudge you a million little touches. Any time she sits on the couch you're there beside her, sliding your fingers between hers and resting your head on her shoulder. You need to hold onto her like a drowning victim. It's been so long since you've been able to touch someone with even this level of intimacy, and your body responds like a teenager with their first crush. The feel of any part of her against you gets your whole body humming - sends a jolt from your toes to your scalp. You want to kiss her every time she looks at you, but you don't. This is enough for now. Her scent, her warmth, her being alive.

\---------------

Your nose is once again buried in the crook of Sameen's neck, your mind drifting pleasantly towards unconsciousness, when you hear a sharp knock at the door. You rouse and squeeze her hand to signal 'don't get up,' but of course she does anyway. If Shaw was vigilant before, she’s even moreso now that everything’s tinged with paranoia.

You peer through the peephole and open the door to reveal John with Bear at his side.

"Someone wanted to see you," he tells Shaw and leans over to unclip the leash from Bear's collar.

“Bear…!” Shaw crouches down and lets the dog barrel into her, his tongue lapping at her face and rump wagging furiously. It’s the happiest she’s looked since arriving at the safe house. You don’t take it personally - you know Bear simply doesn't remind her of what happened like you do.

John looks on for a moment as the two reunite, then turns to you and asks softly, "So how's she doing?"

You cross your arms and shrug.

"As well as can be expected." You cut yourself off, not wanting to admit that sometimes she wakes up screaming and lashes out at you, thinking she’s back in Johannesburg.

John nods solemnly.

You continue, soft enough that you hope Shaw can’t hear, "I think she should stay here another few days… then maybe we can broach going to the subway. Right now she won’t even consider it.”

“She’s been through a lot,” he agrees. “We can give her a few days.” He leans down then to pick up a large paper bag sitting at his feet and sets it on a nearby coffee table. You know it’s the amenities you requested yesterday, along with some dog food for Bear. “Just let me know if you two need anything else.” You nod.

“You ladies have a good day,” he says at a more conversational volume, smiling gently at Shaw, nodding to you, then heading for the stairs. You close the door behind him and turn back to Shaw, who’s still scratching Bear about the collar, nose to nose with the shepherd.

“You’re such a good boy. You took care of her for me, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” She glances at you, still wearing a smile, and you smile back.

Sameen clears her throat, as though she didn’t mean to let that particular thought slip, but when she looks back at you she’s still smirking.

“Looks like he gained a little weight,” she notes and pats him soundly on the ribs.

“I... may have indulged him with a few treats.” You cock your head and try to look apologetic. “He missed you.” It’s clear from your inflection and slight pout that he wasn’t the only one.

“Well, I missed him, too,” she says, eyes on you.

\---------------

You’ve been gone for two hours, which is the longest you’ve been apart from Sameen since she pounced you in the park. The boys were all chained to their desks and desperately needed you to run an errand (planting a bug in a number’s apartment). On the way back inspiration struck, and you swung by Parks Deli to get Shaw her favorite sandwich. You hadn’t been there since the events at the stock market, but if the surly lady at the food stall recognized you she gave no indication.

You’re pretty proud of yourself for this one, but when you extend the bag to Shaw, she looks… taken aback. She stares at the bag a long moment, then glares at you. Her lips curl in anger.

“You shouldn’t have gone there,” she growls, her hands balled into fists.

Your arm lowers in shock.

“What?” you manage.

“You shouldn’t have gone there,” she repeats. “Greer… he knew about it somehow.” She looks away, as though this were a personal failing.

Your mind races until She says, _No suspicious activity observed_.

You release the breath you were holding.

“It’s safe, Sam.” She looks at you out of the corner of her eye. “No one followed me. I won’t go back there if you insist but…” You extend the bag again and after a beat she snatches it away.

\---------------

Later that day you walk into the bedroom after a shower to find Shaw’s bare back facing you. She’s bent over a drawer, the tank top she slept in discarded on the bed. Lately she’s been changing in private; this is the first time you’ve seen her in this state of undress at the safe house. You suck in a breath (once you realize you weren’t breathing), taking in the smooth olive skin, the side of a breast… and the new pale marks adorning her right side.

Sameen, who had been reaching for a bra, suddenly goes still before turning slowly to look at you over her shoulder. For a second she looks mildly surprised, then she smirks when she sees the wash of emotion on your face.

“Like what you see?” she asks playfully, quirking a brow.

You stand there dumbstruck as she turns to fully face you, rooted to the spot, not wanting anything more in that moment but to worship her with your eyes. Your mouth and fingertips have traveled every inch of her in another life, but as she stands before you now, it’s like you’re seeing her for the first time.

Despite months in captivity her abs are still defined, her body lean. She must have been working out at every opportunity, staying fit and biding her time...

Something in your chest constricts painfully at the thought. Wordlessly you go to her… watch her pupils dilate and her chest rise with a deep breath. Her eyes are inviting, pulling you in. You take her face in your hands, eyes lingering a moment on those twin dark pools before you press your lips to hers, kissing her long and deep. Her mouth is hot, her tongue greedy. Her fingers slip into your hair and press you closer still.

When you finally ease back her eyes are unfocused like she’s just a bit tipsy. Like looking in a mirror, you imagine.

But an intrusive memory won’t leave you alone. There’s something you have to see before this goes any further.

Instead of reconnecting, you slide to your knees, bringing you face to face with the lower of the unfamiliar scars. You brush the indentation with your thumb and are instantly transported to that day: the cloud of blood, the acrid scent of gunpowder, your own scream ringing in your ears, Sameen’s silence… terrible, utter silence…

You feel tears brimming at the corners of your eyes and blink them back. The fear and helplessness you felt then are crashing over you like a tidal wave, threatening to take you under, but you stave them with the mantra _She’s here, she’s here, she’s here_.

You lean forward and tenderly kiss one scar, then the next. Shaw’s palm rests on your head, and when you look up at her she’s staring in wonder back at you, eyes uncharacteristically soft.

You kiss her abdomen again and tentatively bring your fingers to the waist of her sweatpants. A question. Your eyes again dart to hers. It takes your breath away when she smiles.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

“...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Shaw brushes your cheek as you stand, smirking at you.

“Maybe later,” she says with a wink and turns back to the dresser. You exit the room, ready to glower at whoever has such poor timing.

\---------------

That evening Shaw decides it’s time to bust out some celebratory whiskey. She finds an open bottle of Oban high up in a cupboard; probably something John left here months ago. Five shots on an empty stomach later and you’re both pretty gone, wrapped in a warm, fuzzy haze.

“I never thanked you,” Shaw says after a few minutes of silence. She’s lying next to you (partially under you) on the couch, one arm hooked around your neck. You lift your gaze to look at her. She has a far away look in her eyes and the hint of a smile on her lips.

You tilt your head questioningly, feeling like you should know what she means but for the alcohol.

“For saving my life,” she clarifies. Her eyes keep staring vacantly ahead. “I was so tired of being their guinea pig… So tired of it never being the real you.” Her brow furrows. “I thought you might all be dead. I was all ready to end it... when I got your message.” She smirks down at you. “Your sappy, gay message.”

You try to smile back, but your eyes are already welling up with tears, your lips trembling. You draw in a shaky breath and a sob escapes. You try again with the same result. Again and again. Soon your whole body is shuddering against Sameen, curling into a ball of grief.

With all this talk of Schroedinger’s cat, you knew there were only two options. But you didn’t know how close you came to… If you hadn’t...

“Root…”

You want to tell her it’s okay, but every time you go to speak another sob is born, like cathartic hiccups. Your brain’s locked itself in this alternate timeline where she killed herself. It rattles at the bars but can’t escape, the whiskey only amplifying every painful thought you can muster. You failed her and you want to die. You want to die. Your hands grip her shirt and your tears soak the fabric, but somehow her being gone is just as real as this. Her dead and unmourned somewhere. It’s all your fault. Your Sameen; how could you let this happen? Your heart jackhammers and you want to throw up.

Is this what it’s like for Shaw? For the Machine?

Shaw wraps her arms around you as your shoulders continue to convulse. You feel the weight of her head on yours, solid and comforting. Bear whines and noses the both of you, concerned by the strange sounds.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs soothingly. “It’s okay. You saved me, Root.”

\---------------

You wake up some time later under the sheets with Shaw asleep beside you. You don’t remember the journey from the couch to the bed and wonder if she had to carry you.

Shaw’s laying on her right side, currently turned away from you. She looks so beautiful when she sleeps. You figure part of the reason she used to forbid you from staying the night was for this exact reason: she wasn’t comfortable with being that vulnerable, with people watching her when she couldn’t react. But eventually she trusted you enough to grant you that privilege.

Watching her steady breathing brings back so many memories… memories of breaking that steely facade, watching it morph into unbridled ecstasy under your thorough ministrations, or the impish grin she’d wear after making you orgasm for the upteenth time. No matter how gentle, how kinky, how passionate you both were, the session always ended with you watching Sameen sleep like an angel.

You feel something stirring deep inside you and bite your lip to stave it, but you know it’s too late. Your mind’s already a rock rolling into the gutter. You want to touch Sameen all over... kiss her neck… bite her shoulder… stroke her between those toned thighs.

But you can’t bring yourself to wake her. Sameen’s never responded well to that in the past (usually grumbles for you to go back to sleep, if you wanted sex you should’ve made up your mind before midnight). Besides, after all she’s been through, you’ve been waiting patiently for her to initiate things.

But these thoughts won’t let you rest, and it’d be so easy to…

You slip a hand under the elastic band of your panties, feeling how wet you are already just from the thought of her. You keep at it, pretending that your fingers are hers (although you know hers are shorter, stronger, more deliberate), pretending you can feel her mouth between your legs, driving you skillfully to the edge...

It feels a little naughty to be doing this next to an unsuspecting bedmate, but if you’re being honest, that just makes it hotter. You try to stifle your gasps as your hips begin to buck faster in sync with your hand. You can feel yourself getting close when you hear the muffled sliding of sheet on sheet.

Shaw is looking at you over her shoulder.

You remove your fingers as soon as you hear her stir, but the slight widening of her eyes tells you she knows. Maybe she can see the flush on your cheeks even in the dark, or maybe it’s the caught-in-the-act expression on your face.

“Root…” She sounds apologetic, or like she’s gently admonishing you.

Before you can respond she rolls over so that she’s pressed against your side. Her hand goes wandering under the sheets. Her lips find your neck.

“Shaw…” You don’t want her to do anything she isn’t ready for, but she silences you with a kiss and slips inside.

Your hips rise to meet her and your whole body shudders. You moan into her mouth and can feel her smiling against you. As amazing as she feels, you know your reaction is less about the physical sensation and more about what it represents: that she’s here, with you, being intimate. There were so many cold, lonely nights where you thought you’d never feel this ever again. Her touch is every prayer answered.

Craving more contact, you slide your hands under her tank top and gently rake your nails down her back. You massage the small of her back when you reach it, loving how the pressure makes her instinctively move against you. You know she’d let you be rough on her, but that’s not what you need right now. You just want to feel your skin on hers and soak it all in.

Your eyes meet. With the way she’s looking at you, as soon as she starts grinding against your clit you reach your peak embarrassingly quickly. Shaw looks momentarily alarmed when she notices the twin rivers trailing down your cheeks, pooling in your ears, but then she smirks.

“That good, huh?”

You laugh through the tears and pull her in for another kiss.

\---------------

The person looking back at you in the mirror never had high expectations. When you were young you hoped your alcoholic mother would live to see fifty (or, at least, you were supposed to), when you were in your twenties you hoped your fake IDs would be enough to keep you out of prison, and more recently you hoped that if you died, it would be for a good cause.

You never anticipated experiencing anything like domestic bliss - wasn’t even sure you wanted it. Grocery shopping, cuddling in front of the tv, selfies on the beach, doing each other’s laundry… These things were all completely outside the realm of your experience. They were for normal people. Boring people.

But you know every quiet moment you spend with Sameen is something to cherish. When she rests her head in your lap, or talks to you around a mouthful of food, or kisses you for no good reason, you think you might die from happiness. You’re soldiers in a war - of which Shaw was very nearly a casualty - but sometimes you let yourself live fully in these moments. For a minute. For an hour. For a day. Maybe if you string enough of them together you can have your lifetime with her and let the world implode around you.

Suddenly you have a powerful need to know something that didn’t matter much before.

“What are the odds I make it out of this alive?” you ask softly.

Silence.

You lift your eyes imploringly.

“Please.”

Still no answer.

“I know you’ve run the simulations. Just tell me. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

There’s a significant pause before She says, “29.9%” If a tinny voice could sound remorseful…

“That’s not so bad,” you tell Her, trying to smile.

You can’t be so cavalier about this next one.

“...And Shaw?”

Another pause, as though She’s hesitating.

“60.2%”

You smile to yourself. Of course Sameen fucking Shaw, ex-marine and total badass, would have markedly better odds than you, regardless of the lack of a god in her ear.

“You’ve probably already accounted for this, but... is there anything I can do to improve those odds?”

“You could drug her and lock her up… again.”

“I wouldn’t hesitate if that were an option, but…” You imagine Sameen strapped to a hospital bed, tranqed into docility, not knowing if she’ll ever escape or if this is even real. No. You can’t transport her to that living hell again. You’re willing to do anything to keep her safe, but you can’t do that.

There’s a rap on the door.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Just a minute.” You finish brushing your hair and exit the bathroom to find Shaw perched on one of the stools by the kitchen counter, polishing a pistol she no doubt disassembled while you were in the shower.

“I made coffee,” she says. When you don’t say anything in response she pauses to look at you. “What?”

You try to hold her gaze but wind up looking at the gun in her hands.

“Sameen, if… if something happens to me…”

“Don’t,” she warns you. “I’m here now, remember? Nothing’s going to happen to you.” She sets the gun on the counter, giving you her full attention.

You laugh under your breath.

“That’s very chivalrous of you, Sameen, but real life doesn’t work that way.” You mean to sound irreverent, but there’s a definite bite to your words you didn’t intend.

“Yeah.” Shaw’s expression is intense but not unkind. “You keep insisting this is real. Well in over seven _thousand_ simulations I didn’t let you die _once_. Not on my watch. Have a little faith.”

You’re left speechless in the face of her conviction; those dark eyes bore into you, demanding you cheat death. Does she believe what she says, or is it merely for her benefit and yours?

Twenty-nine point nine percent...

You close the distance between you until you can take her in your arms, pressing her forehead to your collarbone. She’s tense, but relaxes as the embrace goes on.

“Whatever happens,” you say, hoping she’ll let you finish, “I want you to know you made me a better person. The Machine… She started me on that path…” You pull back so you can look at her. “...and She led me to you.”

Shaw looks amused at the thought.

“Are you saying the Machine played matchmaker?”

You cock your head and smile cheekily.

“Sort of. Even She can’t know if two people are going to _fall in love_.” The statement rolls off your tongue wryly.

Shaw quirks a brow at your choice of words, but amazingly doesn’t object.

Instead she reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind your good ear, and strokes your cheek with her knuckles. There’s a smile in her eyes when she looks up at you.

“Well, I guess we all get lucky sometimes.”


End file.
